So, I’m at the Tribeca showing of “Beats, Rhymes & Life” – the forthcoming movie about a Tribe Called Quest’s life, death and possible rejuvenation.
Prior to seeing this movie, I know not very much about Tribe. I mean, I like them. I have their “People’s Instinctive Travels” album. “Left My Wallet in El Segundo” gets stuck in my head when I’m looking for my wallet. I can make sly Facebook status update references to “Can I Kick It” (incidentally, Phife Dawg’s least favorite of their songs). But, you know, knowledge? Uh-uh.
So when this movie starts waxing eloquent about the significance of the first eight words of “Buggin’ Out,” which is on their second album, my instinct is to discount it. Say, with the tolerance of a parent listening to their five-year-old’s shrieking over Justin Bieber. The way my friends probably do with me when I start talking about Radiohead.
Says ?uestlove: “’The way that I would describe that ‘Yo’ is the same way that NWA busted through the Martin Luther King ‘I have a dream’ piece of paper on the ‘Express Yourself’ video. Like, they busted through that piece of paper like ‘What!’”
But on reflection: ?uestlove is right. He’s right. Of course he's right.
Yo, microphone check, one two what is this? This is the groove, is what.
Movie Videos & Movie Scenes at MOVIECLIPS.com
Monday, July 04, 2011
Saturday, April 02, 2011
I Walked with Trouble
Keren Ann song "My Name is Trouble" came into existence, I think, after Sufjan Steven's "I Walked." But it feels spiritually like a predecessor.
"My name is trouble/my first name's a mess," she sings, so sweetly. "If you let me love you/I will love you to death," she chirps. And later, a bit apologetically, "If you were to come back to me/in pieces or in melody/there couldn't be a better way through."
Listen to "I Walked" after this, and you can't help but feel that Sufjan's narrator is merely doing what he must. That doesn't in any way lessen the bit of grim horror felt as it dawns on you that the line "I'm already dead to you" is, it seems, literal. "I deserve more/At least I deserve the respect of a kiss goodbye" has to be one of the most heart-wrenching universal wails ever expressed.
Sufjan Stevens: I Walked (via Pitchfork)
"My name is trouble/my first name's a mess," she sings, so sweetly. "If you let me love you/I will love you to death," she chirps. And later, a bit apologetically, "If you were to come back to me/in pieces or in melody/there couldn't be a better way through."
Listen to "I Walked" after this, and you can't help but feel that Sufjan's narrator is merely doing what he must. That doesn't in any way lessen the bit of grim horror felt as it dawns on you that the line "I'm already dead to you" is, it seems, literal. "I deserve more/At least I deserve the respect of a kiss goodbye" has to be one of the most heart-wrenching universal wails ever expressed.
Sufjan Stevens: I Walked (via Pitchfork)
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Took My Melody
"Is that all, then?" is the response of some Radiohead fans far more intense than I to the King of Limbs. Only eight tracks? Why you do us like you do, Radiohead?
It's leading to all sorts of conspiracy theories. Is there a second half of this album coming? Why are there going to be two vinyls when the physical album gets released? Why is the last song on the album titled "Separator," and why does it contain the lyrics, "If you think this is over/Then you're wrong"?
Then there's the below mysterious video clip of mysterious trees (You know, King of Limbs and all that), posted on YouTube on Feb. 18 by someone named "branchesandlimbs," whose profile says they live in the U.K. Complete with morse code that, translated, reads "BranchesBranchesBranches" and some lyrics looped in that plausibly could have come from Thom Yorke's brain, it has the AtEaseWeb message board - where the most hard-core of Radiohead fans lurketh and the rest of us tread only when we REALLY REALLY want some b-side or another - in a bit of a tizzy.
The ones who hope for more say it's evidence that the Radiohead MOTHERLODE is coming: a song called "Burn the Witch" that Thom has been teasing fans with for years, without ever playing more than a few bars of (click here for those few bars). The naysayers point to all sorts of reasons why this is just another fake (and Radiohead fans do love playing tricks on their hapless, gullible peers!): it's Separator reversed! I recognize those trees, they're in a park near my house! The technology behind this video is different than the technology behind the official video!
Time, I suppose, will tell. In the inbetween space, the new album is more than deep and wide enough for me to swim around in for a while. I'm enjoying listening to the songs that have had demos and live versions floating around for years that the band has finally managed to record to their liking. "Good Morning Mr. Magpie" in particular - what a gem.
Click here for the album version. And here's what it used to sound like:
It's leading to all sorts of conspiracy theories. Is there a second half of this album coming? Why are there going to be two vinyls when the physical album gets released? Why is the last song on the album titled "Separator," and why does it contain the lyrics, "If you think this is over/Then you're wrong"?
Then there's the below mysterious video clip of mysterious trees (You know, King of Limbs and all that), posted on YouTube on Feb. 18 by someone named "branchesandlimbs," whose profile says they live in the U.K. Complete with morse code that, translated, reads "BranchesBranchesBranches" and some lyrics looped in that plausibly could have come from Thom Yorke's brain, it has the AtEaseWeb message board - where the most hard-core of Radiohead fans lurketh and the rest of us tread only when we REALLY REALLY want some b-side or another - in a bit of a tizzy.
The ones who hope for more say it's evidence that the Radiohead MOTHERLODE is coming: a song called "Burn the Witch" that Thom has been teasing fans with for years, without ever playing more than a few bars of (click here for those few bars). The naysayers point to all sorts of reasons why this is just another fake (and Radiohead fans do love playing tricks on their hapless, gullible peers!): it's Separator reversed! I recognize those trees, they're in a park near my house! The technology behind this video is different than the technology behind the official video!
Time, I suppose, will tell. In the inbetween space, the new album is more than deep and wide enough for me to swim around in for a while. I'm enjoying listening to the songs that have had demos and live versions floating around for years that the band has finally managed to record to their liking. "Good Morning Mr. Magpie" in particular - what a gem.
Click here for the album version. And here's what it used to sound like:
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
My Favorite Songs of 2010
One woman's trash is another woman's treasure. Who knows if these songs are the best of 2010? I mean, I couldn't get into Arcade Fire, so assuredly there's something wrong with me. These are my favorite songs, though, my friends this past year, my soundtrack.
Sleigh Bells: Tell 'Em. This song makes me wish I had a car. And not just any car. One of those cars with those stereo systems that are so loud when they drive by you, frames rattling off their wheels, you think it must be an alien driving, because the music would explode a human's head, splat. And on that system, I would put this song, and I would crank it up, and I would drive round, windows down, blasting it delightedly, splat or no splat.
Secret Sisters: Big River. Take 2 cups pleasant folk harmonizing, maybe just a tad too sweet. Add tablespoon vinegary Jack White strumming of guitar. Mix. Taste. Add more Jack White as needed.
Delta Spirit: St. Francis. I have been a fickle lover to the songs on this, my favorite album of the year, jilting one tune for the next and then the next and then the next. St. Francis, though, wrapped me up in its minor key modulations, its yelled chorus (live, it'll blow the plaid off a roomful of hipsters), its not-belongingness, and it won't let me go.
Gil Scott Heron + Nas: New York is Killing Me. Sometimes a song seems like it has been written at you. Not for you, at you. From the south via Chicago. In love with New York, but it's bad love, youknowyouknow? Yeah, I can see "why some get up and move where it's slow." Bet they sorta miss it though.
The Hold Steady: The Weekenders. You had me at "The theme of this party's the industrial revolution. You came in dressed like a train wreck."
The Morning Benders: Excuses. If this song took physical form, we would saunter down Flatbush Avenue together, our arms draped around each other, our hands in each others' back pockets, until we reached the park, where we would lie on our backs, not touching, but close, and watch the stars come out.
The National: Conversation 16. Nothing particularly struck me about The National's new album until, at Prospect Park over the summer, the lead singer's giant, warm, 8-dimensional voice reached out directly into my head and sang, "I was afraid/I'd eat your. Brain." But by then it was too late for hesitation, for he already had.
Menomena: Intil. Deceptively simple, this song. It stalks you, a soundtrack in the background, those simple piano chords, that repeated lyric. "Sometimes I say too much. I never thought I'd lie" until it cuts off, and you think, "Wait, what?" and hit replay.
The Dead Weather: Die by the Drop. If I could be a rock star, I would be Alison Mosshart. I would slink about the stage. I would strut. I would stalk. I would fling my hair. I would snarl and sneer. I would take Jack White's aura of cool in my teeth and fling it about, and demolish it, and leave it lying wrinkled up on the stage. And then during a break, I would bake cookies for the band.
Lindstrom & Christabelle: Lovesick. Forget all this artsy musical hooey I've been talking. This song makes me want to dance.
Also:
Matthew Dear: You Put a Smell on Me.
The Liminanas: Je Suis un Go-Go Girl.
Big Boi + Jamie Foxx: Hustle Blood.
Caribou: Found Out.
Belleruche: Bobby. This is my "I am irked that I didn't know about these guys three years ago" band of the year.
Warpaint: Shadows.
Breathe Owl Breathe: Own Stunts.
Besnard Lakes: And This Is What We Call Progress.
April Smith: Terrible Things.
Kid Cudi, Best Coast, Rostam: All Summer.
Sleigh Bells: Tell 'Em. This song makes me wish I had a car. And not just any car. One of those cars with those stereo systems that are so loud when they drive by you, frames rattling off their wheels, you think it must be an alien driving, because the music would explode a human's head, splat. And on that system, I would put this song, and I would crank it up, and I would drive round, windows down, blasting it delightedly, splat or no splat.
Secret Sisters: Big River. Take 2 cups pleasant folk harmonizing, maybe just a tad too sweet. Add tablespoon vinegary Jack White strumming of guitar. Mix. Taste. Add more Jack White as needed.
Delta Spirit: St. Francis. I have been a fickle lover to the songs on this, my favorite album of the year, jilting one tune for the next and then the next and then the next. St. Francis, though, wrapped me up in its minor key modulations, its yelled chorus (live, it'll blow the plaid off a roomful of hipsters), its not-belongingness, and it won't let me go.
Gil Scott Heron + Nas: New York is Killing Me. Sometimes a song seems like it has been written at you. Not for you, at you. From the south via Chicago. In love with New York, but it's bad love, youknowyouknow? Yeah, I can see "why some get up and move where it's slow." Bet they sorta miss it though.
The Hold Steady: The Weekenders. You had me at "The theme of this party's the industrial revolution. You came in dressed like a train wreck."
The Morning Benders: Excuses. If this song took physical form, we would saunter down Flatbush Avenue together, our arms draped around each other, our hands in each others' back pockets, until we reached the park, where we would lie on our backs, not touching, but close, and watch the stars come out.
The National: Conversation 16. Nothing particularly struck me about The National's new album until, at Prospect Park over the summer, the lead singer's giant, warm, 8-dimensional voice reached out directly into my head and sang, "I was afraid/I'd eat your. Brain." But by then it was too late for hesitation, for he already had.
Conversation 16 by The National from Ruthie Cristobal on Vimeo.
Menomena: Intil. Deceptively simple, this song. It stalks you, a soundtrack in the background, those simple piano chords, that repeated lyric. "Sometimes I say too much. I never thought I'd lie" until it cuts off, and you think, "Wait, what?" and hit replay.
Menomena - Intil (Live at OPB) from opbmusic.org on Vimeo.
The Dead Weather: Die by the Drop. If I could be a rock star, I would be Alison Mosshart. I would slink about the stage. I would strut. I would stalk. I would fling my hair. I would snarl and sneer. I would take Jack White's aura of cool in my teeth and fling it about, and demolish it, and leave it lying wrinkled up on the stage. And then during a break, I would bake cookies for the band.
Lindstrom & Christabelle: Lovesick. Forget all this artsy musical hooey I've been talking. This song makes me want to dance.
Also:
Matthew Dear: You Put a Smell on Me.
The Liminanas: Je Suis un Go-Go Girl.
Big Boi + Jamie Foxx: Hustle Blood.
Caribou: Found Out.
Belleruche: Bobby. This is my "I am irked that I didn't know about these guys three years ago" band of the year.
Warpaint: Shadows.
Breathe Owl Breathe: Own Stunts.
Besnard Lakes: And This Is What We Call Progress.
April Smith: Terrible Things.
Kid Cudi, Best Coast, Rostam: All Summer.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Bands That Sound Suspiciously Like Radiohead
Exhibit A: Home Video. Moody piano? Check. Stuttering drums? Check. Ethereal, mysterious, oft-lingering-on-one-word vocals? Check. Yeah, it's missing, like, a 17/8 time signature or two, but whatever.
Exhibit B: Duologue. It's like Radiohead themselves, through a just slightly distorted mirror. All the elements above, plus some extreme falsetto and a bass line that seems more than a tad influenced by "I Might Be Wrong."
Duologue - Cut & Run by Freedom Or Death
Listening to this, I feel like I'm cheating on Radiohead. Quick quick, lads, get that new album out before this develops into a full-blown affair.
Exhibit B: Duologue. It's like Radiohead themselves, through a just slightly distorted mirror. All the elements above, plus some extreme falsetto and a bass line that seems more than a tad influenced by "I Might Be Wrong."
Duologue - Cut & Run by Freedom Or Death
Listening to this, I feel like I'm cheating on Radiohead. Quick quick, lads, get that new album out before this develops into a full-blown affair.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Have a Ghoulish Halloween
I seem to have stumbled across a bunch of actually good sort-of Halloweeny music entirely by accident in the past few months. It would be ghoulish of me not to share.
The Dead Weather: Die by the Drop
"A little grave we can fill together."
Cat Power: Werewolf
She did this song a few years ago. I came across it in the context of Almodovar's latest, "Broken Embraces."
Liminanas: I'm Dead
Only the French could make being dead so lively.
The National: Anyone's Ghost
"Walk through the Manhattan valleys of the dead."
Salem: Frost
Well, if the music genre is called witch haus, of course it's going to be Halloween-appropriate. Get it via pitchfork here.
The Black Keys: Howlin' for You.
Because no Halloween playlist is complete without a little blues-heavy howlin' at the moon.
The Dead Weather: Die by the Drop
"A little grave we can fill together."
Cat Power: Werewolf
She did this song a few years ago. I came across it in the context of Almodovar's latest, "Broken Embraces."
Liminanas: I'm Dead
Only the French could make being dead so lively.
The National: Anyone's Ghost
"Walk through the Manhattan valleys of the dead."
Salem: Frost
Well, if the music genre is called witch haus, of course it's going to be Halloween-appropriate. Get it via pitchfork here.
The Black Keys: Howlin' for You.
Because no Halloween playlist is complete without a little blues-heavy howlin' at the moon.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Five Shows In Two Weeks
The National at Prospect Park, July 27
I can't figure out where the voice of The National's lead singer Matt Berninger comes from. He isn't a big guy. Certainly, his body isn't big enough to contain that delicious, warm, large voice. As he sang lyrics like "I was afraid/I'd eat your/brains" and "I'm sorry I missed you/I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain" (which latter would make an excellent corporate voicemail greeting) at the Prospect Park Bandshell, I came to this conclusion: There are, in fact, more than three dimensions, and in the fourth and fifth dimensions, Berninger is a giant.
This show was perfect in every way: relaxed crowd, pleasant evening, a local band - most of them apparently walked to the show - that knew their crowd. As they introduced their song "The Geese of Beverly Road," there was a dedication to the poor geese formerly of Prospect Park. And I'm still trying to figure out where the Veil of Cashmere is.
Morning Benders/Black Keys at Central Park, July 28
I don't quite get what all the fuss about the Black Keys is about. Yes, they're a good blues band, and I'd like to see them in a tiny, dim, smoky bar while licking BBQ sauce off my fingers and maybe have a conversation with the drummer at the bar later. But the sort of God-like status they've achieved in certain circles is beyond me, and this show did nothing to change this. Perhaps I need to become a boy in my early 20s and grow my hair down to my shoulders and wear a headband to truly understand.
The Morning Benders, on the other hand, were quite precious. "Promises" may be my favorite song of the year.
The Swell Season at Prospect Park, July 30
This free show was incredibly packed, so much so that I wound up outside the fence listening to it after deciding I didn't feel like defending my square patch of land within the fence with my fists. Which was fine: there was a nice picnic, and some annoying dogs, to add atmosphere. This is another band that I don't quite get the popularity of (yeah yeah cute little indie movie whatever yeah), but my night was made when they rocked out with a couple of Frames songs.
Basia Bulat/Tune-Yards/St. Vincent at Central Park, Aug. 1
Basia Bulat was adorable in an all-over-the-place kind of way, and she brought a little bounce to everything she played, including a cover of an incredibly depressing song called, appropriately enough, "I'm So Depressed," by Abner Jay, which was my favorite thing she did (thank you, YouTube taper - awesome video).
St. Vincent was the opposite: technically on point, but chilly to the point of alienating the crowd. There are few things that turn me off to music more than a band that doesn't look like it's having fun, and her band looked like they would rather have been chewing nails.
The highlight of this show, though, was Tune-Yards. Merrill Garbus was a hoot, with her amazing, warbling voice that she loops back on itself infinitely, and her multi-piece brass section that she brought special for the show. Here is a woman who knows how to get the audience involved, forcing us all at one point to do a gleeful shout-out to her Grandpa Lou. And when she bellowed "Grr-ah, grr-ah, we all fall DOOOOOWNN," I had the feeling that here was a star in the making.
The Dead Weather at Prospect Park, Aug. 3
The Dead Weather was so good they were able to overcome the distractions created by an obnoxious crowd that included a man who spilled at least two beers on me and a group of boys who decided to dance a poor version of Hava Nagila while we waited for the encore ("this is what they do in Brooklyn, right?" one of them said, accidentally kicking me). Oh, Jack White and Alison Mosshart, what I endure to experience your rock-star-god auras, completed by blowtorches on stage and stuffed rams heads, or something, mounted on the speakers.
They played all the big, bad, roaring anthems in epic style, but surprisingly, it was the impossibly sexy, sultry, sung-into-one-mike duet, "Will There Be Enough Water," a song I hadn't paid much attention to previously, that left me completely floored. Somebody videotaped it. Bless you, somebody.
I can't figure out where the voice of The National's lead singer Matt Berninger comes from. He isn't a big guy. Certainly, his body isn't big enough to contain that delicious, warm, large voice. As he sang lyrics like "I was afraid/I'd eat your/brains" and "I'm sorry I missed you/I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain" (which latter would make an excellent corporate voicemail greeting) at the Prospect Park Bandshell, I came to this conclusion: There are, in fact, more than three dimensions, and in the fourth and fifth dimensions, Berninger is a giant.
This show was perfect in every way: relaxed crowd, pleasant evening, a local band - most of them apparently walked to the show - that knew their crowd. As they introduced their song "The Geese of Beverly Road," there was a dedication to the poor geese formerly of Prospect Park. And I'm still trying to figure out where the Veil of Cashmere is.
Morning Benders/Black Keys at Central Park, July 28
I don't quite get what all the fuss about the Black Keys is about. Yes, they're a good blues band, and I'd like to see them in a tiny, dim, smoky bar while licking BBQ sauce off my fingers and maybe have a conversation with the drummer at the bar later. But the sort of God-like status they've achieved in certain circles is beyond me, and this show did nothing to change this. Perhaps I need to become a boy in my early 20s and grow my hair down to my shoulders and wear a headband to truly understand.
The Morning Benders, on the other hand, were quite precious. "Promises" may be my favorite song of the year.
The Swell Season at Prospect Park, July 30
This free show was incredibly packed, so much so that I wound up outside the fence listening to it after deciding I didn't feel like defending my square patch of land within the fence with my fists. Which was fine: there was a nice picnic, and some annoying dogs, to add atmosphere. This is another band that I don't quite get the popularity of (yeah yeah cute little indie movie whatever yeah), but my night was made when they rocked out with a couple of Frames songs.
Basia Bulat/Tune-Yards/St. Vincent at Central Park, Aug. 1
Basia Bulat was adorable in an all-over-the-place kind of way, and she brought a little bounce to everything she played, including a cover of an incredibly depressing song called, appropriately enough, "I'm So Depressed," by Abner Jay, which was my favorite thing she did (thank you, YouTube taper - awesome video).
St. Vincent was the opposite: technically on point, but chilly to the point of alienating the crowd. There are few things that turn me off to music more than a band that doesn't look like it's having fun, and her band looked like they would rather have been chewing nails.
The highlight of this show, though, was Tune-Yards. Merrill Garbus was a hoot, with her amazing, warbling voice that she loops back on itself infinitely, and her multi-piece brass section that she brought special for the show. Here is a woman who knows how to get the audience involved, forcing us all at one point to do a gleeful shout-out to her Grandpa Lou. And when she bellowed "Grr-ah, grr-ah, we all fall DOOOOOWNN," I had the feeling that here was a star in the making.
The Dead Weather at Prospect Park, Aug. 3
The Dead Weather was so good they were able to overcome the distractions created by an obnoxious crowd that included a man who spilled at least two beers on me and a group of boys who decided to dance a poor version of Hava Nagila while we waited for the encore ("this is what they do in Brooklyn, right?" one of them said, accidentally kicking me). Oh, Jack White and Alison Mosshart, what I endure to experience your rock-star-god auras, completed by blowtorches on stage and stuffed rams heads, or something, mounted on the speakers.
They played all the big, bad, roaring anthems in epic style, but surprisingly, it was the impossibly sexy, sultry, sung-into-one-mike duet, "Will There Be Enough Water," a song I hadn't paid much attention to previously, that left me completely floored. Somebody videotaped it. Bless you, somebody.
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